A STORY WORTH TELLING "A fine-dining restaurant impresses your date, but a truck stop counter saves your soul." - Overheard at a truck stop cafe There was a time in America when veteran travelers agreed that one trusted clue clearly signaled "a great place to eat." That was any place where constantly rattling diesel engines and sporadic spewing of air brakes oddly harmonized amid a profusion of pumps on acres of asphalt, all under a sign declaring, "Truck Stop." On a cool fall morning some 40 years ago, when I was headed home to the East Texas pines in my 1956 Ford Thunderbird after a trip to Daytona Beach, Florida, I spotted a sign that said, "Truck stop and cafe ahead." That was my clue to stop for breakfast.

I pulled in, roosted my 'Little 'Bird' with the cars and smiled at the glowing neon sign that shouted, "Open 24 Hours." As if any truck stop cafe ever closed.

Inside, George Jones on the jukebox blended with the chatter of truckers.